


Hallelujah

by goldveines



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, PTSD, i'll add tags as i go so watch the frik out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7207952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldveines/pseuds/goldveines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>amnesia fic:</p><p>An angel.<br/>It’s the first thing he sees when he wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

An angel. 

It’s the first thing he sees when he wakes up. The world is bathed in white, and a figure with a halo of blond stands above him. He’s not sure he knows entirely what an angel is or should be, but this must be it. 

“Neil.”

The world is still fuzzy around the edges, like a burned photograph that has been snuffed out with time enough to preserve the essential parts of the image. The world is an acceptable amount of hazy for him to know that the hesitant voice comes from the angel above him. 

“Neil.”

“I didn’t think angels were so small.”

His vision had cleared slightly upon more blinking, and he can now see the sharp edges to objects. No longer do the colors blur together, though white still seems to bloom from every corner. Every surface. Every object. Except the angel. 

The angel is small and death incarnate. The true warrior of god, bloody from battle, a barbwire necklace round its throat and a halo of gold atop its head, contrasting to the dark hollows beneath its eyes (which look a lot like empty sockets with the way it blurs) and dark clothing. 

“You must be hopped out of your mind if you think I’m an angel, ‘cause I’m sure as fuck not.” The angel-- _not_ \--seems amused almost. He knows though, that the confusion about the angel’s identity shows on his face, because the air becomes something solid, waiting to be slashed through.

“Neil,” sharp and discordant compared to the almost musical whim the angel--not--used before.

Perplex coats his drawn brows and deep in his throat, he says, “Why do you keep saying that?” 

A knife has been taken to the thick air. He had not thought he would be the one to cut it, but here it is, and growing quickly to replace its loss.

The angel is strained, as if approaching something wild, saying, “Neil, don’t fuck with me.”

It dawns on him then, and he feels too slow to not have caught it the previous times, that he is supposed to be Neil. He voices as much in a question. Angel-boy nods his head with great reluctance. 

_Neil._ He tastes the words on his tongue in a silent way that throws the other boy off balance. He thinks Neil might taste right. It slides off his tongue and teeth like water through a spigot. He lets the name out in a whisper then, like a prayer to the not-so-heavenly angel that stares him down, a deer in the lights of an oncoming car.

Finally, he says, “If you aren’t an angel then what are you?” He didn’t mean to say what, but some part of him--most of him--is still caught on the crystalline idea that this boy is angelic, godly, devout. 

A voice somewhere within him says, _First impressions are everything. You can’t change them, so get them right._ Neil thinks that this impression might be right. His bones sing to him that it is; but maybe that’s his mind fooling his body with its thoughts of holiness.

“Christ, Neil.” It’s not a curse, not wholly, but it feels like the worst things dragged from the gutter with the rotten way angel-boy strews them. Angel-boy shifts closer, his hand reaching out like a viper--though he can’t recall why something so vicious should ever be so scared--and spends precious moments to grasp Neil’s wrist. Feeling for a pulse, he realizes. “It’s Andrew-- _I’m Andrew._ ”

The weight in the words makes Neil feel terrified. He knows this angel boy--or at least, he’s supposed to. 

It had seemed okay. Okay that the angel should know him and Neil not know the angel; angels are supposed to help you find your way. But this is not right. His head is filled with the branches of a thunderstorm, clawing and ravaging against the walls of his mind. They screech, _Wrong, wrong, wrong._

This man--Andrew--is not some face in the crowd, but an intimate sort of known. The type of known that you might consider a friend rather than an acquaintance.

The same voice as earlier says, _Friends are dangerous._ It only adds to the cocktail of emotions that run through his blood. He thinks it might be hard to breathe. He thinks it might be getting brighter. He thinks he might sway, though he doesn’t think he moves. 

Angel-boy--Andrew--reaches his free hand to the remote on the cart beside him. This is Neil’s first glimpse at where he is.

Tubes are plugged into every open source, and then into Neil. Now he _knows_ that is hard to breathe. He _knows_ that it’s getting brighter. He _knows_ he sways. 

“I think,” he says as clearly as he can, “that I might be panicking.”

“You think?” Andrew huffs, still gripping tight to Neil’s wrist. 

“Know,” he corrects almost breathily. 

A nurse comes through the door, opening it with haste. She says, “Mr. Josten, glad to see you up hon’.” She’s approaching the bed with a smile. “Seems your heart rates a little high; worried your Andrew here.” It’s a jab that even the nurse knows the boy beside him. It’s a twist that she calls Andrew his. He can hear the beeping now, growing faster by the second. 

“Neil,” Andrew grinds, “calm down.” He sends a squeeze to Neil’s wrist by way of his trembling hands. _When did they start shaking,_ he wonders. 

“Neil, honey, why don’t you breathe for me? Nice and deep so we can hear it, yeah?”

He tries, but it feels like he rattles. Rattles with all the words that had been breathed in moments before. It must have satisfactory though, because the nurse tells him to do it again. He does. It might be less of a tremble, he can’t tell. 

They spend minutes like this, suspended in a glass moment that Neil doesn’t want to preserve. 

Again the voice comes, _Forgetting makes it easier._ Neil thinks that maybe he should, maybe he should forget. 

“Alrighty, hon,” the nurse says when she is satisfied with the speed of beeps coming from the machine beside Neil, “Why don’t you try and sleep, huh? I’ll take Andrew out here and we’ll check up in a little bit. Sound good?” Neil thinks he nods. He just regained control over his breaths, so he isn’t that sure of his movements. 

_Neil Josten, a man forgotten._

These words chase after him when the two leave the room, the angel he notices, on crutches. Chase after him when he hurtles towards sleep. Maybe waking up would be easier the next time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> andrew's tweakin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you already read chapter 1 before this update, please go back and read again! I made some minor edits that a major to the plot (in that you won't be shocked by some of andrew's wording about what happened). I decided to go a different direction than originally intended.

Andrew is logical. He can get from point A to point B before most know there was a point A to begin with. This, however, is a destination he did not know he was on his way to. Neil is the impossible man who survives impossible beatings. Andrew should have protected Neil’s side more. He should have jumped out himself. He tugs back and forth in the two opposite directions, but he can’t seem to abandon the passenger. 

_Neil._ His hold body sighs contently at the mere thought of the other boy. Andrew hadn’t meant to become so attached--he hadn’t. He was stupid enough to believe a promise that Neil couldn’t possibly hold, that they could have this. This that wasn’t a ‘this’. 

The nurse, Sheila, consulted a doctor when they left the room--when they left Neil. The doctor doesn’t know how long the amnesia will last. Tests can do no more; only time will tell. Maybe a day. Maybe a month. Maybe forever. 

He shouldn’t have gone out at all. He curses the addiction to exy that runs so deep in Neil. More, he curses himself for allowing it.

How is Andrew supposed to make Neil see anything but the monster? Neil had been the first who saw past his facade without help of medical records, the first who took the time to solve Andrew as he had solved so many others. 

Worse, how will Neil be Neil if he doesn’t even know who that is? A frightening question is asked of himself, _Will I like the Neil-that-isn’t-Neil?_

Andrew denies the possibility of this question. It doesn’t matter; he would stick around regardless of what he found. Maybe Neil can never be a part of Andrew-and-Neil, but he can still be Andrew and Neil. 

Deep in the confines of his head, another voice, a voice that has grown drunk on hope says that Neil might remember Andrew in an hour. That it’s pointless to think such wounding words. Then there is the part of Andrew that prides himself on his logic. Logic was tripped up by this point, but it has found the next one. 

One thing that can be counted on more than Neil’s ability to survive somewhat seamlessly is his ability to go all the way. Half-assing is not the Josten name, whatever truth that may hold now. 

His phone vibrates against stitches in his hips from the confines of his pockets, stirring him from his thoughts. He sits in an uncomfortable, poorly padded chair outside Neil’s room and reads the text from Kevin.

_How long ‘till he can practice?_

Kevin knows Neil woke up because he, along with several other foxes, had been outside the room for lunch. Andrew sent them away when he found that Neil didn’t remember him. The foxes had protested, but Andrew was in a glacier of cool, unmoving in his demands. 

He wants to laugh at the absurdity of the question. Does Neil even remember what exy is? 

Andrew isn’t great in the finer details of the medical field, so the inner workings of amnesia is nothing but a faint idea. 

He sends back, _Later._

Andrew ignores the immediate stream of texts he gets. He meant what he said. He doesn’t know a hell of a lot right now, and he hates that he can’t be illusive and shitty about his answers without sending himself down the rabbit hole.

“Andrew Minyard?”

It’s a new doctor, which is saying something considering Andrew has been camped in the hospital for a near two weeks. He would have been in Neil’s room the whole time, but his own stint in a hospital bed shaved it down to a mere week.

Andrew nods his head in response and stands awkwardly, trying to shift his weight between little balances and the crutches.

“I’m Dr. Hislop,” she says, extending a hand that Andrew ignores--both because of his careless mask and the crutches. She sends him an understanding smile that makes Andrew want to be vicious. She continues after her knowing stop, “I’m a little more experienced in cases of amnesia than Neil’s normal doctor, and I’m here to explain some things to you, okay?”

Andrew tries not to make his nod too eager, thankful that seat-belt abrasions on his throat save him from having to use his voice. Most of what he had left was used on Neil earlier. 

“We’re thinking that Neil has psychogenic amnesia. It’s a kind of PTSD, a dissociative disorder of the memory.” She pauses to let Andrew breath, but she doesn’t know that he won’t take another until she finishes. “It means he remembers basics, his semantic memory seems to be intact, but is blocking out key facts about himself; in Neil’s case, blocking out everything.”

Andrew’s heart seems to gain a voice that screams, _Blocking out me._ His head, master of retort says, _Neil is nothing. It’s impossible to forget nothing if you forget everything_ , but it has no heart seeing as that part of him is focused on another thought. 

Hislop continues on, “It’s possible for Neil to make what we call a spontaneous recovery, wherein some event triggers one or some memories. As I said, they aren’t gone, just blocked.”

_Hope._

Hislop’s face turns more serious than it had been when she gave Andrew hope, “Do you know what was so traumatic about the car crash that’s causing this blow-back for Neil?”

 _Yes._ Andrew has spent more time than he should have wishing more harm upon ghosts, but once more he wants to inflict his own brand of damage on Mary. On the Butcher. On every goon that chased Neil. 

Hislop reaches a hand to Andrew’s shoulder with a warm squeeze and says, “If you have any questions, ask a nurse to page me, okay?”

Andrew thinks he nods. His thoughts are still echoing on the words _PTSD_. It’s not as if either boy is a stranger to the word, but it’s the first time in a long time that things have gotten worse. PTSD isn’t something to get over instantly, but ironically, it can come on in an instant. Just like cars. 

Nicky had been shocked that Andrew wasn’t upset about his totaled Maserati. Shocked that a casual fuck that meant nothing could be Andrew’s main concern. The others did not make the same mistake, nor he make it more than once. 

Andrew makes another awkward shuffle so that he can lean against the outer wall of Neil’s room. He lends a free hand to rub at his temples. 

_Forgotten but not gone._

Damn Neil for the hope that has surged in him; Neil taught him that he could hope, and then ripped it as fast as the headlights had come into view. 

Andrew doesn’t move when the door to Neil’s room opens and Sheila comes out. Doesn’t raise his hand from his face when she says, “Seems he doesn’t want to do much resting. He’s awake, asking for ‘that angel’.”

Andrew wants to break something. But more than that, he wants to see Neil, no matter the state. So he pushes himself from the wall and hops through the doorway and into the abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might add another chapter later tonight because it's a pretty lazy night, so watch out for it


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> neil still has no idea what's happening

Neil wakes up seconds after he falls asleep. He is unable to find comfort in the darkness when he is already surrounded by it, contrary to the white walls enclosing him. So he asks for someone who can perhaps make it a little less dark.

The angel-boy, Andrew, comes in hobbling. Neil sees now things that had been distorted the first time he woke up. 

Andrew is not bloody from some battle waged in the heavens, but some other unknown hurt that requires crutches. He has no barbed wire necklace, but a patch of dark bruising crossing the front of his neck in a slash. There are no empty sockets, only a tiredness that sits heavy on his face. _Still_ , Neil thinks, _this man is devout._

The golden halo is something that doesn’t fade, something drugs and sleep didn’t glaze over. Blond hair and overhead lights reflect into a glowing circle atop the man’s head. It’s almost calming, a little light in the darkness all on its own. 

Andrew stops his slow approach a good distance away, where Neil can’t reach him.

“I told you I’m not an angel,” Andrew says, in the way you whisper-talk as a kid when the lights go out. Neil wants to object, because the way reality intermingles with the heavenly, Andrew must be something special. 

Instead he says, “But you never corrected me. You told me your name; Angels have names, I think.” Andrew reacts to these words like he’s starved for any objection he can find. 

“So call me it, not angel-boy. People would find it quite hard to believe that you called me that; I’m not a nice person, let alone an angel.”

Neil is quick in reply, having already thought it, “Angels aren’t dopey. They’re fierce. Fighters. Electric.” Neil doesn’t mean to say the last word, and thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have as his cheeks tinge with heat. It feels like a line between descriptor and something hidden. 

Andrew doesn’t seem to notice because he retorts, “You don’t believe in anything. That enough to get you to stop calling me angel-boy?”

Neil sits in silence for a moment. He had, in the heat of their conversation, misplaced the information that Andrew knew Neil as Neil did not know himself. 

The nurse, Sheila, had discussed with Neil his health before Andrew came in. He has some psycho-babble amnesia. Supposedly Neil does know who he is, but he’s trying to hide it from himself. 

“What happened to us?”

Neil says it thoughtfully and small. He began to guess that Andrew and himself had been injured by the same thing, or at least at the same time. He hadn’t the thought to ask the nurse yet, as he went to sleep nearly as soon as he woke up.

“Car accident,” Andrew says, stiff and distant. “I was driving, hence the nice necklace,” he motions to the bruising on his neck, a seat-belt, “and you were in the passenger seat. You got the brunt of it.” And then, like an afterthought, “That was nearly a month ago. You haven’t woken up, not really, until today. You’ve been in and out, no longer than probably 5 minutes at a time.”

A car accident. A month. Neil swallows the lump in his throat and sighs deeply. His eyes pinch shut pensively. He speaks with a hand pinching the bridge of his nose, “A m-A month?” He removes his hand and opens his eyes to look at Andrew, who shakes his head in grim agreement. “What are you to me?”

Neil has to know, because Andrew is the only supposed familiar face. Andrew seems shell-shocked by the revelation that Neil doesn’t know who he is, though Neil doesn’t know what constitutes as the normal reaction to such news. 

“Nothing.” Neil thinks angels have cruel words. “And everything.” Or maybe not.

“What,” Neil says, leaning forward somewhat badly, “does that mean?”

“It means that you need to let the doctor check you out because you’re not panicking anymore, and you’ve been consistently awake.” Andrew turns, as effectively as he can, and hobbles out of the room. Some minutes later a doctor walks in and Neil sees Andrew stand at the door watching, but not entering. He disappears as the door is closed behind the doctor.

She asks basic questions to test his memory, ones that confirmed their suspicions about his amnesia form. 

Before she walks out, Neil asks, “Why is Andrew here?”

She thinks on it, clearly deciding whether she should tell Neil or not. Probably deciding what’s basic fact that Neil should know, and what Neil should tread carefully towards. She decides on the latter, because she quips, “Someone important. He’s your emergency contact, if that’s important.”

Important. That was a great deal of help. Neil had already ascertained as much. He needs to clear his head.

Hospital rooms don’t have much in the terms of head-clearing space. He settles for the bathroom sink, in hopes that cool water would help. As he shuffles out of the bed, his limbs feel leaden. _You have been sitting for a month_ , Neil reminds himself. 

This reminder does nothing to prepare Neil for his muscles lack of use, and eventual drop to the floor as he tries to stand. It makes a loud racket, and not a second after the sound ensues does the door fly open. 

Andrew must have been waiting outside the door since the doctor originally came in to check on Neil. 

“Christ,” Andrew says to himself, and then, “Sheila!” to the nurse at an invisible point in the hallway. 

Sheila comes to the room with a ‘tsk’ and makes her way to help Neil stand. She starts to set him back in bed and Neil tells her his original intention. Sheila sets up a stool so that he can sit and do as he pleases with the water. She leaves the door open on her way out with instructions to holler when he’s done. 

Neil is thankful that she leaves him this moment of privacy. Andrew hasn’t left yet, he stands in the middle of the room locking eyes with Neil. Finally, Neil turns away and to the mirror. What he finds is ghastly. 

Scars and Scars and Scars. Blood and Blood and Blood. New hurts on top of old hurts. He looks like a war-zone. He thought that Andrew had looked that of a battling angel, but 

Neil is that of a waging hellion, match with auburn hair. 

Neil only gets out a gasp before his arms fly forward to catch his falling body on the sink ledge. He can hear Andrew coming towards him by the creaking sound of his crutches. 

_Breathe_ , he repeats it like a mantra in his head, but it’s not working. A cool hand on the back of his heating neck staggers him, head jumping to meet hazel eyes. 

The words that slip out of Neil’s mouth are, “Angels save people sometimes,” before he lets panic take him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on tumblr: [drunk-onbooks](http://drunk-onbooks.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i almost made this hella angsty and painful. i gave you guys a reprieve, because it's comin next chapter ;)

_Angels save people sometimes._

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? He doesn’t have time to contemplate it further than the one question before he moves to catch Neil’s limp body. It leaves him in an awkward position that he holds by weight of the door frame so that he can keep his bad leg--though he doesn’t exactly have a good one at the moment--free of weight. 

“Sheila!” Andrew calls, more breathless than he intends to. The injuries, regardless of their month of healing are still brutal on him. 

Sheila answers the call immediately, rounding he corner so fast that she lets a hand rest on the door jam to steady herself. When she sees Andrew supporting himself by sheer will, she hurries over and lets her arms around Neil’s torso, lifting him slightly, and then setting him back down where he isn’t hindering Andrew. It takes a minute because Andrew doesn’t want the help, but finally accepts it and together they get Andrew to an upright position. Next she picks Neil up--it really is an odd sight, Neil being so small that Sheila has no trouble picking him up--and puts him back in his bed. 

It a hard stare, which Sheila returns, and as close as Andrew gets to begging that convinces the nurse to leave the room for when Neil wakes up. He tells her, not so much an assurance, “It was a panic attack; he was shocked about the scars. Let me deal with it.”

Her face softens and she replies, “Alright, hon’.”

Andrew hates that everyone in the goddamn hospital has pity for him. They first pitied him as he sat for two weeks in his own bed, threatening staff so that he could see Neil--to which they refused, saying he needed to remain in his bed. Second when Andrew camped in Neil’s room for another two weeks. On more than one occasion had a nurse or doctor walked in on Andrew clasping somewhat desperately to Neil’s hand. They had all seen Andrew’s sudden burst of life when Neil would wake up for a few moments, and the dampening of it when he fell back into the world of sleep. Third when Hislop told Andrew what was wrong with Neil. And now fourth. 

He lets his anger at it all soak him, but still ignores it as he sits in the chair next to Neil’s bed, crutches leaning against the window behind him. It’s a waiting game. _When will Neil wake up? How will he react?_ And the one that rings most in his ears: _Did it stir memories?_

While he waits for Neil to wake, he thinks back to what Neil said before he passed out. _Angels save people sometimes._ His head starts to map out the possible meanings. 

1) It’s bitten and sour. Neil meant it to be painful. He had been staring at his scars and he meant that Andrew should have saved him from it all.

2) It’s a hope. Neil wants to think Andrew that heavenly creature, and hope that he will save Neil from this hell. 

Neither possibility makes Andrew particularly happy. Option one makes him twist the word _monster_ in his head until it spells out _Andrew._ Option two makes him hate Neil even more than he had when he first got the chance to see Neil after his own two weeks of bed-rest. 

As if Neil could sense the end of Andrew’s thoughts, his eyes blink drowsily open. Brilliant blue looks at him and Andrew can’t find it in himself to look elsewhere. Maybe he had built up a tolerance to these eyes before, but lack of their presence has sent it crashing down and he wants _more, more, more._

Despite his fall-back, Andrew finds it in himself to say, “You done with your nap, sleeping beauty?” It doesn’t have the intended effect, however, because Neil stays quiet, shutting doors Andrew had not realized were open. He wants to take it back. Instead, he waits for Neil to reply.  
Andrew watches Neil’s lips form words for a moment before they manage, “What happened to me?” He says it like he’s as scared of the words as he is the answer Andrew might give. 

Andrew lets out a sigh and then, “A lot of things. Pick one.” He is exhausted, and it comes out angry and frustrated. He doesn’t realize that this Neil is no accustomed to nor comforted by this until Neil opens his mouth. 

“Just give me a goddamn answer! I’ve been awake--really awake--for a grand total of a half-hour, and every time I ask a question someone gives me some evasive answer. Everyone in this damn hospital is acting like if they give even one iota of who Neil Josten was--or is?--I’ll break. I’ve got news for all of you, I’m already broken; I’ve been in the hospital for a month,” Neil’s panting with the effort it takes to dish out his words. He delivers the last line as a whispered plead, “Give me just a little truth.”

Andrew’s body acts of its own accord, his lips parting, eyes dilating, fingers twitching to touch Neil. This is who Neil is, snarky and can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life--on more than one occasion. Despite that his words confirm that he remembered nothing, Andrew’s heart swells at this glimpse of who Neil is. 

The moments it takes Andrew to shift back to an apathy filled mask are palpable, the only sounds are the beeping of Neil’s heart--which had increased since his outburst--and his heavy breathing. Andrew breaks it once he regains his composure, “Ask a good question.”

Clearly Neil had been expecting a larger protest, but Andrew couldn’t find it in himself to deny this request, regardless of what shade of Neil it brought out. Neil thinks a moment. His gaze drifts up and down his arms where Lola had inflicted her damage, and then to Andrew, confusion knotting his brow. 

“What happened to me?”

“Which time?”

“Start from the beginning.”

“Well that’s a fool’s errand. Most of it’s because of who you are--who you were.” Andrew goes on, as well as he can, to describe the horrors of being Nathaniel Wesninski. Neil had, over the years, told Andrew nearly every story behind his scars. Andrew did his best to comply to Neil’s request of honesty, and besides, Andrew had never been one to sugar coat things. Brutality is how Neil lived, and Andrew did not hide that. 

Andrew tries to detach himself from it as he tells the story, though barely manages. When Neil asks for a specific story or reference to a story, Andrew carefully lifts an item of clothing to reveal a scar that answers Neil’s questions. 

He stops the telling when he reaches the point where Neil met Wymack decided to come to PSU. Stops the story when Andrew comes into the picture. Stops before Neil knows anything about Baltimore, fearing that that might send him farther down the rabbit hole.

Neil stares at him open-mouthed and slack-jawed. Andrew isn’t shocked, telling a blank slate that they had remade the definition of hell is quite the thing to swallow. When Neil doesn’t say anything, Andrew defends himself, “You asked, I answered.”

“I didn’t expect you to pour it all out,” Neil says dryly. Andrew doesn’t say that Neil has always been his weakness. It’s fun to say no to people, but it’s more fun to say yes to Neil. Andrew shrugs noncommittally. 

“You going to pass out again?”

Neil seems to take the question seriously, seemingly assessing himself before shaking his head no. “I think,” he treds carefully, “that it’s not real right now. Maybe later, but not now.” The truth. 

If this were their normal game, Andrew would ask a question. But Neil has no answers to give. In yet another moment of weakness he says, “Ask another.” Andrew knows that he shouldn’t, that Neil should take time to digest who Nathaniel Wesninski is, but he craves anything he can get. He is starving for Neil, has been for a month.

It seems as if Neil, too, did not want the time to digest who Nathaniel was, because his question is quick to come.

“Who are you to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you guys catch my verite reference;)? (song: underdressed)  
> also, i didn't really feel like doing a 17 paragraph recap of who nathaniel wesninski was and explaining that to neil, so forgive me for just 'he did the thing'  
> Come yell at me on tumblr: [drunk-onbooks ](http://drunk-onbooks.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally telling neil who andrew is to him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is quite a bit shorter than normal--both in the sense that it is legit shorter and that paragraphs are like two sentences long. sorry about that, but i really wanted to update for you guys. i promise i'll start working on a beefy next chapter for you guys.

He told Neil that he wasn’t a liar years ago, yet the itch is unbearable. Andrew doesn’t know that he can map out the journey they made. Doesn’t know that he can say that they aren’t over--damned if he’s going to give up. Because no, he doesn’t need this, but Neil has made it easy to want. And Andrew wants this.

Finally he decides on, “I already told you. Nothing and Everything.” In their game--despite that this is not that game--Andrew had satiated Neil by giving information that wasn’t straight forward, yet still led directly to the answer. 

Furrowed brows turn towards Andrew and blue depths spark. “What does that even mean? And why are you the only one here? Do I not have any other friends?”

“That’s three questions,” Andrew returns after a beat, “Pick one.”

“The second.” Good, Andrew thinks, drop us. Even for a minute. Andrew hasn’t quite decided what he wants to do about it yet. Not entirely.

“I told them to leave when you woke up last.”

Again Neil’s brows crinkle together in confusion and thought. “Why?”

If this were normal Neil, Andrew would say that he asks too many questions. That he should learn to start figuring things out on his own. But this isn’t normal Neil. Instead he gives the answer, “I wanted to see you first. I can’t be who I need to be with them around.”

Andrew knows it was stupid to say the moment it left his mouth. He is careful and calculated, but it’s long since been eradicated around Neil and Andrew is finding it hard to put the barriers back up. Too late. Decisions have been made for him. 

“Are you--” a pause, pursed lips and more confusion, “Are we--I mean. Fuck.” A hand runs through his gnarly hair. 

Andrew saves him from his fumbling by saying simply, “Yes.”

“H-how long?” Andrew doesn’t know what he would say to this if their roles were reversed, but he doesn’t think he would ask how long they were together.

“Around two years.”

“Shit.”

“Precisely.” Andrew can’t help but let a breath out. 

After moments of thick silence, Neil’s mouth opens, mouth forming words before he gets them out, “Do you think--never mind. It’s stupid.” 

It’s a near growl that escapes Andrew’s throat, “You always were, why should a head injury stop that.” And then, “What?”

Neil processes it a moment with his head cocked, taking in information about himself and then, “I thought maybe, you could help me remember.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean? I already told you who you are.”

“Don’t people with amnesia always remember things by familiar sights and feelings and all that shit?”

“So what?” Andrew says skeptically. He thinks he knows where this is going and it’s dangerous.

“Help me remember.” Neil is sitting himself up.

“What do you mean?” Andrew isn’t stupid, but he needs Neil to say it. He knows better, but it’s possible it could work. It’s possible that Neil is a cliche--always has been in the past. Hope is a wave of resurgence to his system. 

Andrew watches Neil’s lips form the words more than hear them--Ironic, he thinks.

“Kiss me.”


	6. IMPORTANT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE

I'm sorry to say that this, as well as all of my other works are indeed being abandoned. I feel like all of the writing has been less than stellar and I want the chance to sit and write these works well. I will come back to these stories when I feel I can write them well. I'm hella sorry that I'm leaving y'all in the beginning, but at least it's not goodbye to the story forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can still come yell to me about it on my [tumblr](http://ajminyrds.tumblr.com/)


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